After Erin walked off, he decided to retreat to their booth, not expecting much else from the night.
When he arrived back at the booth, however, it was empty.
Adrian was gone.
Brows pulling into a frown, Xander scanned the crowd. The moment his gaze landed near the back door, he spotted his so-called friend—with his hands buried in a woman's hair, kissing her like they were the only two in the room. The woman's back was arched against the exit door, and Adrian's hand was already fumbling with the knob, eager to disappear.
Disgust churned in Xander's stomach.
Of course. That was Adrian. Always disappearing when things got remotely interesting or serious. The man had a talent for vanishing right when you needed answers—or when you were close to catching a thread.
With a tired sigh, Xander turned away, ready to leave. He had half a mind to just go back to his car and drown himself in silence—
Until a hand grabbed his.
He turned, already preparing to bark at whoever it was.
And stopped.
It was her.
"I've reconsidered," she said dryly, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. "I'll take that drink now."
He blinked. "The one you didn't want ten minutes ago?"
"I'm fickle. Get used to it."
He chuckled, motioned to the bartender. "Two of whatever she wants."
"I'll make it interesting then," she said, lifting a brow. "Surprise me."
"You're going to regret saying that," he warned.
"I regret a lot of things. Might as well keep the list growing."
He couldn't help the grin that formed. "You always this sarcastic?"
"Only when I'm bored."
"Then I'll consider it a challenge to amuse you."
She leaned one elbow against the bar, facing him fully now. "You planning to dance, Volkov?"
"I don't dance."
She gave a mock sigh. "We both know that's a lie. You're just afraid you won't be able to keep up with me."
Xander grinned amused.
The bartender returned with two drinks. Xander handed one to Erin, who raised it in a silent toast. "To changing our minds."
They clinked glasses. He watched her sip, the corner of her lip curving in approval.
"So," he said. "You have a name, or do I keep calling you 'Mystery Woman Who Rejects Billionaires'?"
She chuckled. "Erin."
"Just Erin?"
"For now."
"Well then, just Erin, tell me—what exactly made you come back?"
She twirled the glass in her hand. "Curiosity. And a dangerous love for irony."
"And here I was thinking you missed me."
"I don't even know you."
He leaned closer, his tone dry. "You'd like me if you did."
"Debatable."
They sipped, laughed, and the sarcasm flew freely between them. Xander hadn't felt this entertained in weeks. Maybe months.
The music shifted into something slower but beat-heavy. Erin glanced toward the dance floor.
"You still claiming not to dance?" she asked.
"I'm reconsidering."
"Good. I'd hate to have to drag you."
"I don't get dragged."
"Oh, darling," she said, downing the rest of her drink. "You're getting dragged."
She grabbed his hand before he could respond and tugged him toward the floor. He followed—half amused, half intrigued, and entirely aware of how surreal this was.
Before long, they moved to the dance floor, caught between the beat and the buzz of the alcohol. Her body swayed effortlessly to the rhythm, and for a moment, Xander allowed himself to forget. Forget the weight of the world on his shoulders. Forget the sleepless nights. Forget that his instincts had been off lately—especially when it came to people.
She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Try to keep up."
"Oh, I can do more than that," he muttered.
The dance was less about rhythm and more about presence. They didn't try to impress. Just moved, laughed, leaned in too close. There was a moment—brief but potent—where her hand brushed his chest, and he stilled. Her scent was intoxicating. Like citrus and danger.
"I knew you could move," she said, lips close to his ear.
"I'm full of surprises."
"I'll be the judge of that."
They danced for two songs, maybe three. Time blurred. He didn't realize how dizzy he felt until he stumbled slightly. Erin's arm caught him.
"Whoa," she said, steadying him. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just—" He pressed a hand to his temple. "Head rush."
She gave him a half-smile. "Maybe you need to sit."
"No, I'm—"
The room tilted.
Then tilted again.
His vision blurred at the edges. He caught a glimpse of her face—calm, unreadable, beautiful—before everything went dark.
And Xander Volkov blacked out.